jg.paintedhouse-第42节

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lts　to　ask；　〃What　were　you　gonna　do　if　you　caught　it；　Red？〃　Anyway；　he　said　he　soon　gave　up　the　chase　and　returned　home　to　see　about　Mrs。　Fletcher。　When　he　had　seen　it　last；　his　tornado　was　headed　straight　for　town。
　　　Pappy　told　me　later　that　Mr。　Red　Fletcher　would　tell　a　lie　when　the　truth　sounded　better。
　　　There　was　a　lot　of　lying　that　afternoon　in　Black　Oak；　or　perhaps　just　a　lot　of　exaggerating。　Twister　stories　were　told　and　retold　from　one　end　of　Main　Street　to　the　other。　In　front　of　the　Co…op；　Pappy　described　what　we'd　seen；　and　for　the　most　part　he　stuck　to　the　facts。　The　double…twister　story　carried　the　moment　and　had　everyone's　attention　until　Mr。　Dutch　Lamb　stepped　forward　and　claimed　to　have　seen　three！　His　wife　verified　it；　and　Pappy　went　to　the　truck。
　　　By　the　time　we　left　town；　it　was　a　miracle　that　hundreds　hadn't　been　killed。
　　　The　last　of　the　clouds　were　gone　by　dark；　but　the　heat　did　not　return。　We　sat　on　the　porch　after　supper　and　waited　for　the　Cardinals。　The　air　was　clear　and　light…the　first　hint　of　autumn。
　　　Six　games　were　left；　three　against　the　Reds　and　three　against　the　Cubs；　all　to　be　played　at　home　at　Sportsman's　Park；　but　with　the　Dodgers　seven　games　in　first　place；　the　season　was　over。　Stan　the　Man　Musial　was　leading　the　league　in　batting　and　slugging；　and　he　also　had　more　hits　and　doubles　than　anybody　else。　The　Cardinals　would　not　win　the　pennant；　but　we　still　had　the　greatest　player　in　the　game。　At　home　after　a　road　trip　to　Chicago；　the　boys　were　happy　to　be　back　in　St。　Louis；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who　often　passed　along　greetings　and　gossip　as　if　all　the　players　lived　in　his　house。
　　　Musial　hit　a　single　and　a　triple；　and　the　score　was　tied　at　three　after　nine　innings。　It　was　late；　but　we　weren't　tired。　The　storm　had　chased　us　from　the　fields；　and　the　cool　weather　was　something　to　be　savored。　The　Spruills　were　sitting　around　a　fire；　talking　softly　and　enjoying　a　moment　without　Hank。　He　often　disappeared　after　supper。
　　　In　the　bottom　of　the　tenth；　Red　Schoendienst　singled；　and　when　Stan　Musial　came　to　the　plate；　the　fans　went　wild；　according　to　Harry　Caray；　who；　as　Pappy　said；　often　watched　one　game　and　described　another。　The　attendance　was　fewer　than　ten　thousand；　we　could　tell　the　crowd　was　slim。　But　Harry　was　making　enough　noise　for　the　other　twenty　thousand。　After　148　games；　he　was　just　as　excited　as　he'd　been　on　opening　day。　Musial　ripped　a　double；　his　third　hit　of　the　game；　scoring　Schoendienst　and　winning　it　four　to　three。
　　　A　month　earlier　we　would　have　celebrated；　along　with　Harry；　on　the　front　porch。　I　would　have　sprinted　around　the　bases　in　the　yard；　sliding　into　second；　just　like　Stan　the　Man。　Such　a　dramatic　victory　would　have　sent　us　all　to　bed　happy；　though　Pappy　would　still　want　to　fire　the　manager。
　　　But　things　were　different　now。　The　win　meant　little；　the　season　was　ending　with　the　Cardinals　in　third　place。　The　front　yard　had　been　overwhelmed　by　the　Spruills。　Summer　was　gone。
　　　Pappy　turned　off　the　radio　with　Harry　winding　down。　〃There's　no　way　Baumholtz　can　catch　him；〃　Pappy　said。　Frankie　Baumholtz　of　the　Cubs　was　six　points　behind　Musial　in　the　race　for　the　hitting　title。
　　　My　father　grunted　his　agreement。　The　men　had　been　quieter　than　usual　during　the　game。　The　storms　and　cool　weather　had　struck　them　like　an　illness。　The　seasons　were　changing；　yet　nearly　one　third　of　the　cotton　was　still　out　there。　We'd　had　near　perfect　weather　for　seven　months；　surely　it　was　time　for　a　change。
　
　
　Chapter　21
　　　
　　　Autumn　lasted　less　than　twenty…four　hours。　By　noon　the　next　day　the　heat　was　back；　the　cotton　was　dry；　the　ground　was　hard；　and　all　those　pleasant　thoughts　about　cool　days　and　blowing　leaves　were　forgotten。　We　had　returned　to　the　edge　of　the　river　for　the　second　picking。　A　third　one　might　materialize　later　in　the　fall；　a　〃Christmas　picking；〃　as　it　was　known；　in　which　the　last　remnants　of　cotton　were　gathered。　By　then　the　hill　people　and　the　Mexicans　would　be　long　gone。
　　　I　stayed　close　to　Tally　for　most　of　the　day　and　worked　hard　to　keep　up　with　her。　She　had　bee　aloof　for　some　reason；　and　I　was　desperate　to　learn　why。　The　Spruills　were　a　tense　bunch；　no　more　singing　or　laughing　in　the　fields；　very　few　words　spoken　among　them。　Hank　came　to　work　mid…morning　and　began　picking　at　a　leisurely　pace。　The　rest　of　the　Spruills　seemed　to　avoid　him。
　　　Late　in　the　afternoon　I　dragged　myself　back　to　the　trailer…for　the　final　time；　I　hoped。　It　was　an　hour　before　quitting　time；　and　I　was　looking　for　my　mother。　Instead　I　saw　Hank　with　Bo　and　Dale　at　the　opposite　end　of　the　trailer；　waiting　in　the　shade　for　either　Pappy　or　my　father　to　weigh　their　cotton。　I　ducked　low　in　the　stalks　so　they　wouldn't　see　me　and　waited　for　friendlier　voices。
　　　Hank　was　talking　loudly；　as　usual。　〃I'm　tired　of　pickin'　cotton；〃　he　said。　〃Damned　tired　of　it！　So　I　been　thinkin'　about　a　new　job；　and　I　done　figured　a　new　way　to　make　money。　Lots　of　it。　I'm　gonna　follow　that　carnival　around；　go　from　town　to　town；　sorta　hide　in　the　shadows　while　ol'　Samson　and　his　woman　rake　in　the　cash。　I'll　wait　till　the　money　piles　up；　I'll　watch　him　fling　them　little　sodbusters　outta　the　ring；　and　then　late　at　night；　when　he's　good　and　tired；　I'll　jump　up　outta　nowhere；　lay　down　fifty　bucks；　whip　his　ass　again；　and　walk　away　with　all　his　money。　If　I　do　it　once　a　week；　that's　two　thousand　dollars　a　month；　twenty…four　thousand　bucks　a　year。　All　cash。　Hell；　I'll　get　rich。〃
　　　There　was　mischief　in　his　voice；　and　Bo　and　Dale　were　laughing　by　the　time　he　finished。　Even　I　had　to　admit　it　was　funny。
　　　〃What　if　Samson　gets　tired　of　it？〃　Bo　asked。
　　　〃Are　you　kiddin'？　He's　the　world's　greatest　wrestler；　straight　from　Egypt。　Samson　fears　no　man。　Hell；　I　might　take　his　woman；　too。　She　looked　pretty　good；　didn't　she？〃
　　　〃You'll　have　to　let　him　win　every　now　and　then；〃　Bo　said。　〃Otherwise　he　won't　fight　you。〃
　　　〃I　like　the　part　about　takin'　his　woman；〃　Dale　said。　〃I　really　liked　her　legs。〃
　　　〃Rest　of　her　wasn't　bad；〃　Hank　said。　〃Wait…I　got　it！　I'll　run　'im　off　and　bee　the　new　Samson！　I'll　grow　my　hair　down　to　my　ass；　dye　it　black；　get　me　some　little　leopard…skin　shorts；　talk　real　funny；　and　these　ignorant　rednecks　'round　here'll　think　I'm　from　Egypt；　too。　Delilah　won't　be　able　to　keep　her　hands　off　me。〃
　　　They　laughed　hard　and　long；　and　their　amusement　was　contagious。　I　chuckled　to　myself　at　the　notion　of　Hank　strutting　around　the　ring　in　tight　shorts；　trying　to　convince　people　he　was　from　Egypt。　But　he　was　too　stupid　to　be　a　showman。　He　would　hurt　people　and　scare　away　his　challengers。
　　　Pappy　arrived　at　the　trailer　and　started　weighing　the　cotton。　My　mother　drifted　in；　too；　and　whispered　to　me　that　she　was　ready　to　go　to　the　house。　So　was　I。　We　made　the　long　walk　together；　in　silence；　both　happy　that　the　day　was　almost　over。
　　　
　　　The　house　painting　had　resumed。　We　noticed　it　from　the　garden；　and　upon　closer　inspection　saw　where　our　painter…Trot；　we　still　presumed…had　worked　his　way　up　to　the　fifth　board　from　the　bottom　and　had　applied　the　first　coat　to　an　area　about　the　size　of　a　small　window。　My　mother　touched　it　gently；　the　paint　stuck　to　her　finger。
　　　〃It's　fresh；〃　she　said；　glancing　toward　the　front　yard；　where；　as　usual；　there　was　no　sign　of　Trot。
　　　〃You　still　think　it's　him？〃　I　asked。
　　　〃Yes；　I　do。〃
　　　〃Where　does　he　get　the　paint？〃
　　　〃Tally　buys　it　for　him；　out　of　her　pickin'　money。〃
　　　〃Who　told　you？〃
　　　〃I　asked　Mrs。　Foley　at　the　hardware　store。　She　said　a　crippled　boy　from　the　hills　and　his　sister　bought　two　quarts　of　white　enamel　house　paint　and　a　small　brush。　She　thought　it　was　strange…hill　people　buyin'　house　paint。〃
　　　〃How　much　will　two　quarts　paint？〃
　　　〃Not　very　much。〃
　　　〃You　gonna　tell　Pappy？〃
　　　〃I　am。〃
　　　We　made　a　quick　pass　through　the　garden；　gathering　just　the　essentials…tomatoes；　cucumbers；　and　two　red　peppers　that　caught　her　eye。　The　rest　of　the　picking　crew　would　be　in　from　the　fields　in　a　short　while；　and　I　was　anxious　for　the　fireworks　to　start　once　Pappy　learned　that　his　house　was　getting　painted。
　　　In　a　few　minutes；　there　were　whispers　and　brief　conversations　outside。　I　was　forced　to　slice　cucumbers　in　the　kitchen；　a　tactic　to　keep　me　away　from　the　controversy。　Gran　listened　to　the　news　on　the　radio　while　my　mother　cooked。　At　some　point；　my　father　and　Pappy　walked　to　the　east　side　of　the　house　and　inspected　Trot's　work　in　progress。
　　　Then　they　came　to　the　kitchen；　where　we　sat　and　blessed　the　food　and　began　eating　without　a　word　about　anything　but　the　weather。　If　Pappy　was　angry　about　the　house　painting；　he　certainly　didn't　show　it。　Maybe　he　was　just　too　tired。
　　　The　next　day　my　mother　kept　me　behind　and　puttered　around　the　house　for　as　long　as　she　could。　She　did　the　breakfast　dishes　and　some　laundry；　and　together　we　watched　the　front　yard。　Gran　left　and　headed　for　the　cotton；　but　my　mother　and　I　stayed　back；　doing　chores　and　keeping　busy。
　　　Trot　was　not　to　be　seen。　He'd　vanished　from　the　front　yard。　Hank　stumbled　from　a　tent　around　eight　and　knocked　over　cans　and　jugs　until　he　found　the　leftover　biscuits。　He　ate　until　there　was　nothing　left；　then　he　belched　and　looked　at　our　house　as　if　he　might　raid　it　for　food。　Eventually　he　lumbered　past　the　silo